Kindred Spirits
by Tigerwalk
Summary: Rick and Michonne learn just how deep their connection is.


**This story is for comewithnattah. It's not exactly what you asked for, but you inspired it. Hope you like it!**

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"I'm stuffed," Rick said, rubbing his palm over his flat stomach, and pushing it outward for effect. They stepped out of the cozy bar and grill into the brisk, January air, and he stood in front of Michonne to block the wind that was whipping specks of snow around like confetti, as she fastened her coat.

"Me too," she said, letting her eyes roll back to exaggerate her sated state. "That was amazing."

"What do you want to do now? The night's still young."

"Let's walk off that meal," she said, slipping her arm through his and pressing against his side for warmth. "We can window shop, really do the tourist thing."

They started down the cobblestone sidewalk, no particular destination in mind, and Rick allowed himself to be led from jewelry store, to antique shop, to bakery; rows of storefronts still decked out cheerily for the recently passed holiday. She pointed out numerous treasures, and he pretended to be interested, all while his gaze fixated on the way the cold brought a rosy tint to her dusky cheeks and nose, and her brown eyes gleamed with contentment. They walked until the winter sun began to prepare for its evening rest, dimming the light and pulling up a blanket of horizon to retire behind. Rick noted the neighborhood was getting less handsome as the sky became more murky, and he began to think better of their self-guided tour.

"Let's go back to the hotel," he said, leaning in to run the chilled tip of his nose against her ear as he spoke.

She smiled, about to agree to his proposition when something caught her eye. "Look!" She pointed to a sidewalk sign with a woman's name written in scrolling cursive on the chalkboard finish, and a hand drawn image of a crystal ball. "A fortune teller!"

"Michonne…" Rick groaned, tightening his arm around hers and planting his feet to keep her from rushing toward it.

"Oh, please!" she begged, holding in a chuckle at his expense. This was exactly the type of thing he would hate on principle, but it could be fun. "Come on. She can tell us what the new year has in store." She batted her eyelashes at him and he was useless to resist.

Rick hung his head in defeat, and followed her for a few more steps until they stood before a purple, velvet curtain where a door should have been, a small windchime hanging in front of it, in lieu of a doorbell. Michonne looked at Rick and shrugged, lifting her gloved fingers to brush them across the metal rods, making them ring. As if beckoned by a Siren's song, a dark haired women appeared, wearing flowing robes and gold bangles around her wrist that jingled as she walked. She pushed aside the curtain, squinting as if they had woken her from a nap.

"Welcome," the woman said, in a thick Eastern European accent. "You have come for me to read your good fortune?"

"Of course," Michonne answered, with a beaming smile.

"How much is it?" Rick asked, with considerably less enthusiasm. Michonne nudged him in the ribs with a soft elbow and smiled at the woman.

"It is thirty for your reading," she said, unmoved by his attitude. "Well worth it, I assure you."

Rick rolled his eyes, pulling his wallet out of the back pocket of his worn, black jeans, and thumbing out two twenties. He held them up to Michonne with a shrug, indicating his lack of exact change, and she plucked them from his fingers gleefully. "A tip," she said, handing the cash to the woman.

She nodded, then jutted her chin over her shoulder and turned to lead them into the small room where she had just emerged from. Their eyes adjusted to the dim, yellow lamp light, filtered by a scarf draped over the shade, and they both scanned their new surroundings. There was a small wooden table in the shape of a circle, with three folding chairs set around it and a glass orb on a stand in the center of it. The set up almost filled the closet sized room and Rick had to shuffle between a chair and the wall to find a seat. Soft, twangy, instrumental guitar music floated from an unseen source throughout the space and the dark walls were decorated with black and white photographs, featuring groups of people with their hands joined around a table and lights glowing in odd shapes above them. Rick pulled out the chair he had passed up, offering it to Michonne and she removed her gloves and slipped her arms out of her bright, teal pea coat, hanging it on the back of the chair before taking her spot.

"I am Madame Rose," the woman said, taking the last chair. "I am a clairvoyant."

"What's that mean?" Rick asked unzipping his own suede, shearling lined coat that was far too heavy for the overwhelming warmth emanating from a tiny wood stove in the corner of the room.

"I can see your destiny, but also your past. I can read your soul's journey and decipher it for you."

Michonne glanced at Rick with a look of sudden apprehension. "Is that always a good idea?"

"The knowledge and insight I give you is yours. It can be good or it can be bad, but it is yours, whether I tell it to you or not."

Michonne nodded at the response, settling into her chair while Rick leaned back, looking skeptical beside her.

"Each of you lay a hand on the table," Madame Rose instructed, "palm up, then join your other hands together." The woman hurried them along with a wave of her fingers when Rick hesitated, and Michonne urged him with her eyes to comply.

She felt him squeeze her fingers in his beneath the table and she grinned, her shoulders loosening a bit. Madame Rose closed her eyes and tipped her face to the ceiling, an almost imperceptible hum vibrating across her pursed lips as she exposed her own palms to them on the tabletop. Michonne chanced another glance at her boyfriend, while the woman was occupied, finding an incredulous squint framing his clear blue eyes. She mouthed for him to stop and he begrudgingly adjusted his facial expression to one of simple disinterest before Rose opened her eyes again.

The fortune teller reached across the table, tracing her index fingers along each of their palms, exploring the unique creases and indentations for what seemed like an eternity, until she finally spoke. "You've been together for a long time," she said.

Rick's face curled into a cocky smirk instantly. "Zero for one," he said. "We're here celebratin' our one year anniversary."

Madame Rose's lips twitched ever so slightly into her own smile, before returning to a thin drawn line as she continued to trail her fingers across their open hands. "Ahhh," she said. "But your souls have been dancing for lifetimes." Rick rolled his eyes again, as Michonne leaned forward, intrigued. "Mmhmm," she hummed, nodding to herself. "Yes. They are drawn to each other like the waves to the shore." She stopped her feathered touch suddenly, gripping both of them tightly with a small gasp. "I see you meeting...your eyes meet from afar...through a window...no...a fence."

"We met at a friend's barbeque," Rick said, not attempting to hide his chuckle.

"You did open the gate for me when I got there," Michonne offered.

"That's a stretch, Michonne."

"This meeting was not the first," Madame Rose said. "You've met a multitude of times, all different, all like lightning striking."

Rick leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out beneath the table, his face wearing his disbelief proudly. "I only remember the barbeque."

"Rick," Michonne said, shushing him.

"The fence is around you both, a prison of your own making," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Oh." She gasped again.

"What?" Michonne leaned forward further, riveted by the tale the woman was weaving.

Her face contorted then, a look of agony washing over her drawn features stretched with thin, pale skin. "Oh, dear." She squeezed Rick's hand hard, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "The pain in your heart...it's so heavy. Guilt...sorrow. Your soul is wailing and your mind is lost in the thicket of grief and misery." Tears started to form in her eyes and her mouth parted again, a silent sob wracking her.

Rick looked at Michonne who suddenly looked pained as well, as if she was really buying this act.

"And you," the woman said, turning toward her. "You are a shadow. You are hidden from the world. You're alone...wandering...carrying your own pain like a weapon on your back."

"We're actually pretty happy people," Rick interjected, annoyed that Michonne seemed to be disturbed by this nonsense. He didn't pay the woman to upset her. Her eyes bounced around Rose's emphatic features, searching for the meaning behind what she was saying.

"You became friends," she continued. "Partners." Her eyes went wide, focusing on Rick. "She saved you."

He opened his mouth to deliver a smart retort, but it got stuck in his throat. He lived a pretty uneventful life; a responsible, Southern man who did what was expected of him, but the woman beside him had certainly changed him. Maybe, in a way, she had saved him from the boring, predetermined path he would have ended up on, if she hadn't walked into his life that day. He had built a life around duty, obligation; she showed him a deeper fulfillment.

She turned to Michonne now. "And this man revived you," she said. "He took your shadow and gave it depth, life!"

Michonne looked at Rick and smiled. Maybe she was a shadow before she met him. She lived for her career, her independence; he sparked a different side to her, one that felt things, that giggled at corny jokes and got lost in the gaze of a man.

"You traveled together on a desperate road, lost but no longer alone, until one day you recognized each other and, when you looked into each other's eyes, you saw all of the planes across which you were seeking each other."

Rick swallowed a lump in his throat, swiftly overcome with a love for the woman beside him that was so rich, it ached in his chest. He pulled his hand back from Madame Rose, joining it with the one that already held Michonne's. "This is ridiculous," he whispered to her, his wide eyes saying the opposite. The old woman was a charlatan, he told himself. She was making it up as she went along. She was bound to get a few things right.

"It's silly," Michonne said quietly, her breath hitching on the words she didn't quite believe.

"No, child," Madame Rose said. "It's not silly at all. It's actually quite amazing. Some people search through all of their lifetimes and never find their soulmate. You've been with yours in all of them."

Rick watched the words sink into Michonne's expression, as she shrunk back into her chair with a sharp breath. He squeezed her hand again, leaning into her ear. "You done?" he asked her, avoiding Madame Rose's gaze.

She nodded and released his hand so he could stand. Rick reached for his wallet as Michonne pulled her coat back on. He found another five dollar bill and tossed it on the table, then placed his hand on her back to lead her out of the room. "Thank you," he said carelessly over his shoulder, as they exited onto the cold street, now bathed in darkness.

"That was crazy, right?" Michonne said, stepping to his chest as he joined her on the sidewalk.

"Of course it was," he said, forcing a playful grin. He grasped the lapels of her coat and pecked her cheek with a comforting kiss. "If you're a shadow, you're the loudest one I've ever met."

She chuckled, timidly. "And you only lose your mind during football season."

"You make me lose my mind sometimes."

Michonne nudged his arm again, then slipped underneath it as they began the walk back to their hotel. "It was strange, though," she muttered.

"Hey," he said, stopping her and bringing his hands to her face. "I love you. Right here, right now."

"Me too," she said. "In this lifetime you're mine."

"Forever."


End file.
